


Blue Rose

by FallenGabriella



Series: Infection [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Because Everything Jill touches Explodes, Everything is on fire, F/M, Is Nicholai his own Warning yet?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23586685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenGabriella/pseuds/FallenGabriella
Summary: Jill can't believe it. Doesn't believe it. Not until white roses appear at her lips.
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Jill Valentine
Series: Infection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709857
Comments: 33
Kudos: 85





	1. Roots

Something itched at the backs of her eyes, withering beneath pale green, coiling down to scrape at the back of her throat. She wouldn't surrender. He turned away first, his disgust permeating the air behind him.

 _Where is your sense of self preservation?_ Lost. Murdered. In the rubble of a mansion, her pride eroded in the ashes that followed. Her skills, her experience, hell, her goddamn sanity had been under scrutiny for the better half of two months. She swallowed hard, turning back to the corpse, a boy that would be lucky to have a shallow grave. The pit in her stomach doubted he'd get one. She doubled back, unable to explain the hollow weight in her chest that expanded, yawning into a chasm that made her throat tingle.

 _Bad time to be coming down with something_. She blamed it on the noxious fumes of oil, gasoline, blood and ammonia wafting through the air. And wherever that disgusting shit smell was coming from...

×××

Carlos was tall. Nicholai was taller. Or maybe she was just built small. But it took a lot for a man to be a whole head taller than her. She'd lined up enough guys to know which ones were over six foot though, and he easily fit the bill.

She kept her chin level, her steps light. She wouldn't be cornered like a fox in a hole, matching his strides as he tried to circle around her. Her face remained, placid as a lake surface. For once she was thankful her mother taught her to meditate, drilled into her the finer points of keeping her features unfettered. It was better when people couldn't tell what you were thinking. It made them complacent, or at the very least less weary -

" _Can't pull the trigger when it counts_."

_Then why does he see right through me?_

Her tongue felt hot. Heavy. She swore she could feel something viscous and slick sticking to the back of her tongue. She blamed it on the lingering residue of downing green herbs for the last half an hour, making sure she was parasite free. Only... it didn't taste like blood. He snarled, just a little, 'tsking' at her like some ivory mamba that had slithered its way out from beneath a rock.

"She'll get you killed." As if she wasn't standing right there. As if her being there was a bigger detriment than advantage. As if she hadn't just performed her duty like any other solider. Carlos apologized for him, but the sickening sweetness on the back of her tongue and the ever growing blackness told a different story. She turned so Carlos couldn't see the mist on her eyes, couldn't see the tightness in her jaw, but her gaze never left Nicholai's back.

 _He's not wrong_.

×××

She wondered if she shouldn't leave the grenade launcher for them, maybe even the shotgun... it seemed only fair, since she had a one way ticket out of town. She wondered why _he_ wasn't staying with Tyrell and Carlos. She wondered how he'd lasted so long in a military career, willing to sacrifice his comrades, or even shoot them in the fucking head. But she wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't strictly military. In fact, she was betting on it. Umbrella probably looked everywhere for people to do their dirty work, and those that belonged in their cesspit of lies and bullshit were even better.

"The only life that matters is your own." He looked way too relaxed to be in the middle of a zombie infested city. Or maybe that was just the way he was... Then again, he also wasn't being chase by a giant, mutant freak throughout the entire city. Yet he still treated this entire thing like it was a normal Sunday afternoon... How many of Umbrella's secrets did he know? Or maybe shooting people just didn't matter to him. He seemed psychotic enough for the latter.

 _That might work for a scumbag like you_. Her throat itched again. She swallowed down the cough, least he try to unload an entire clip on her.

×××

Why was his hair that color? It reminded her of the friends she had back in University, the law and medical majors, always joking about how they'd get grey hairs from stress. She'd seen combat, literal hell, and hadn't gotten a single one. Considering his approach to Raccoon City, she doubted his was emotionally induced. Was it hereditary? She'd heard of it, certainly, kids ending up with entire heads of silver or white before they turned two, but she'd never actually seen it. The lights above, droning and yellowed, made the shadows deeper. It almost looked soft...

For an instant, she was five again, lying on her back on a rickety porch. She swore she could feel the hum of the crickets through the slats beneath her, the warbling cry of a cicada in the grass that was taller than her, tickling her cheeks whenever she got lost in it. The morning dew clung to the trees, dripping down onto her legs, between her toes. They offered her eyes sanctuary from the glare of the sun, already burning against her arms and hands. Something glittered above her head. She sat up, narrowing her eyes to catch it shining, diamonds hanging from silvery cords. Jill reached out, her touch curious and feather-light, with all the innocence of a child wishing to experience without harm. The spider froze in its work, her fingers catching and pulling against the too soft threads. They did not break, a testament to their shocking strength, and her digit glided across unimpeded. The dew felt like ice against her knuckles, and she withdrew no wiser, feeling like she'd trampled across something sacred, despite her care.

The dusting on his jaw looked like snow, the same that had caught in her hair when she had visited her relatives in France for the first time. She thought she could taste it on her tongue, bitter and sweet. Jill tried to swallow down the memory, rising just as his gaze shifted to her. She walked to the other side of the cart, all too aware of how his eyes followed her. Her own had been too heavy, absorbing the light sheen of sweat on him, and the way his grey shirt clung to his biceps.

She managed to quiet her cough by regulating it to her chest, forcing whatever lingered to rise to the surface. It wasn't bile, thankfully, though the iron tang on the inside of her cheek was worrying. Something clung to her tongue, paper thin and... was that powder? Jill leaned on the door, pretending to watch the darkness, but her gaze swerved to the corner. Mikhail was still nursing his side, dozing within his seat. Nicholai was once more staring at the wall opposite him. At least she hoped he was. He probably still had a good look at her out of his peripheral. Jill scraped her tongue along her top, front teeth, and subtly raised her hand to pry whatever it was off of them.

White. Silvery white. She blinked, carefully unfolding it in her palm. Despite the clinging moisture of her saliva, there was no denying the silken texture of the... petal. A flower petal. Her brow furrowed.

" _A_ _disease_." Her mother, so sure and patient, voice gentle as a strolling creek. " _Ancient and unforgiving_. _It_ _is born of love known only to one, denied by another unknowingly_." Jill had watched her so intently then, as she stitched another luscious petal into the inside of her father's jacket, repairing a torn seem with a beautiful bloom. " _Pray you never know it, my dear Shiroibara_." By the time she finished, a crimson red carnation had taken root, its many lashes curled in haphazard waves. " _And if you do, do not show it to the one who planted it there. They will know the second they see it_..." When she had asked why, and if it would not be better to just tell the person, her mother had shook her head. She had soothed her questions with a lullaby, brushing her hair back from her face.

She wanted to cry, to laugh, to jump off the train going well over seventy miles per hour. She wished she could go back and pry the answers from her mother's lips.

She crushed the petal in her fist and stuffed it in her pocket.

×××

He left them. The bastard even winked at her as he did it! As if it were some school yard prank, pulling her pigtails and then running away. But Jill had never been the type of girl to wear them, and she wasn't going to die here. She whipped around, sprinting, reaching desperately for Mikhail. He was gone in an instant, just a few inches from her fingertips. She didn't know what to do, unable to fire without hitting him, unable to - the door! She turned rapidly, reaching for her gun, ready to blast the lock off. The least she could do was put a bullet in the back of that traitorous bastard's head -

" _Can't pull the trigger when it counts_."

 _You couldn't do it then, why do you think you can_ _now_? She wasn't sure whose knowing voice it was: his or hers. Maybe it was Brad's. Maybe it was Carlos. The faces of her uncertainty changed by the minute. It was all about adaption. She'd grown up her whole life doing just that - from a father and mother who couldn't stay together, to those same parents abandoning her for the choice of what to do with her life, to not believing her when she needed them to most. They would look in her eyes, saying how crazy she was, while whispering: " _It was all just a nightmare_." She couldn't wait to wake up from this one.

She woke up to the taste of blood.

The tickling at the back of her throat had turned into a trickle she could feel passing her lips. Jill's throat gave a sickening gurgle, hand shaking as her fingers pressed into her tongue. She caught whatever was sticking, whatever was pulling at the back - like a disgusting bit of phlegm. Her vision swam, the darkness eating at the edges of her vision. Still half unconscious, she forced her trembling limbs to push her up. She stared down at the image before her, uncomprehending...

A rose. Half bloomed, it's pure, white face streaked with crimson droplets that oozed between each beautiful petal. They twisted along the barbed vine, the roots a matted clump at the end. Jill gulped down whatever remained of the mangled flower, her eyes prickling with a hot wave of tears. She could have sworn some of the thorns had torn themselves free of her lungs, wrapping around the fragile chambers of her heart. Each breath felt like a squeeze, like they were lacerating her apart...

Heartbreak and betrayal tasted the same.

×××

Jill didn't believe herself to be vain. That didn't mean she didn't worry about things that she was fairly certain were true... Tyrell wasn't exactly blind either. And neither was Carlos. He knew the flowers weren't for him. Because... well, if it was Carlos, she doubted there would be any to begin with. Then again, she didn't think the disease had been studied enough to figure out of the 'unrequited' bit was due to unawareness. Ironic, considering it was the basis for its entire existence. Jill had awoken to the stale taste of them on her lips, to a few half-blooms on her pillow. She'd shoved them away and followed after Carlos.

Her breath hitched when she saw him. She knew it was him. Even silhouetted in eerie blue, entangled more in darkness than light. Her lungs almost betrayed her. She felt a petal almost flutter from her mouth. She shredded it on her teeth, swallowing it out of spite.

Jill knew it wouldn't be that easy. This was his game, his trap. She jumped as the lights went out, the breaker hissing sparks at her, as he had done in the subway. He sounded more angry than impressed. She tried to contain her sneer, maneuvering her way over lifts and through falling containers. At least he couldn't see her coughing, couldn't see the white petals that were stained in blood and putrid remains. She wanted to believe there were less and less of them, that every droplet of pure ivory wasting away in a puddle of filth was corrupting whatever ones remained inside her.

And yet the raw feeling in her throat only grew worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this after reading the beautiful fic: _Like a Prey with Tiger's Eyes_ by FanFicReader01, so you should definitely go read that one first!
> 
> I was inspired because I'm a sucker for Hanahaki Disease in media (as I am soul marks, fairy tale AUs, etc.; but I digress). NOTE: this is not a companion piece to their work, this is a completely different thing I wrote from inspiration... I've an idea of where I want it to go, but I'm not entirely sure about the execution...
> 
> Onwards to other things:
> 
> Okay, so I know and everyone knows that Jill's mum is of Japanese descent, and therefore is probably, most likely, definitely not 100% Japanese. Or she at least wasn't born in Japan. I'm thinking she was probably half American, and half Japanese, then got together with Jill's dad. For some reason, I don't think they're married anymore? I feel like Jill mostly lived with her mom in America, visited grandparents in Japan, and then also went to visit her dad in France every other holiday season or something. I don't know, my brain just likes to think of Jill as very well traveled. This is the woman who knows how to pack for a weekend, a week, a month, whatever abroad down to the day. She's also the one that wisely packs spares in case of emergency.
> 
> Alright, symbolism time! Because I love me some good, old fashioned symbolism. Its one of my favorite literary devices, and I revel in its use.
> 
> White Roses have multiple meanings. In western cultures, it represents: virtue, chastity, and everlasting love. This is the reason it is known as the "Bride's Flower". In easten cultures, it is a bit different. It means: Innocence, devotion, and silence. I feel a few of these fit Jill specifically, though perhaps not all... then again, I think they do, but in different ways.
> 
> For instance: virtue and chastity. I picture Jill as being the type of woman who grows deeply attached and faithful when she does fall into a relationship. Virtue also involves high morals, the idea that it isn't because she's better, but because it's the "right thing to do".
> 
> Jill wrestles with her loss of innocence. The mansion incident left her with severe survivor's guilt and PTSD from what she experienced. Before the mansion incident, I think she was more akin to Leon, bright eyed and bushy tailed, with nothing if not complete faith in her teammates. Now, something that irritated me about RE:3's take on Jill's trauma was... the lack of even so much as a mention of **Wesker** (and yes, I know, there's no Chris either, but he's not the hot issue with Jill's problem here... well, he maybe, sort of is, but I'll come back to meathead). Wesker, to me, highlights a massive reason for another of Jill's issues in the game: trust. She can't trust anyone. Carlos, at first, Mikhail, as the second, and certainly not Nicholai. But most of all, she can't trust herself. She only starts to do so after tackling her inability to trust others. And this is mostly, I believe, to be blamed on Wesker. The man who was supposed to be her commanding officer, the pillar of their old team, the one who betrayed them in the end for Umbrella.
> 
>  _Devotion_. Oh man, do I love me some devotion. It makes for delicious angst. Jill is all about devotion. She's up to her eyeballs in it. This is the type of woman who has to be shoved away, blown away, or there has to be no hope in hell for you before she'll leave you. And every time she is forced to leave behind a comrade it tears her up, it digs another grave into her memory, because the people she leaves behind won't get a real one. Even after that though, she's going to get revenge for them, you can bet your ass on that.
> 
> Silence is another good one, and is also key to Jill. She refuses to let anyone see how badly she's hurting, how deep the scars really go. Even the ones you can't see. She thinks she's hidden them all, buried them just like she didn't her friends. Then, in walks Nicholai fucking Ginovaef (or Zinoviev, they changed this man's name for some damn reason and now I don't know which is which), and he calls her on all the weaknesses she thought she'd managed to kill with all those pills the doctors put her on. No, they rise up, crawling out from beneath the surface, growing stronger with every turn, every familiar bullet she puts in a zombie's head. But she's gotten good at killing things that should be dead, she's a damn professional, and by the end she's slaughtered her demons. That doesn't mean it's the same when she comes to the man she's somehow fallen in love with...
> 
> And on that note! Yes, I used the: fairy-tale logic of "love at first sight". Sue me. But I couldn't comprehend a logical reason for Jill to love Nicholai without some serious plot alteration. And since I wanted this to be somewhat canon compliant, I went ahead and did just that.
> 
> I didn't mean for this to turn into a meta, but oh boy... thanks for the read!


	2. Growing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can roses bloom in winter? Are there any that can survive Russia?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the part where I confess I've written this all on my tablet? Probably explains the subpar quality... Also, mostly unedited. I usually go back, editing in horror when I find a mistake though.

How did he always manage to be where she didn't need him? How was he on that specific walkway, lying in wait, like a goddamn villain out of a terrible movie? He even had the accent to match. But his voice did funny things to her chest, the vines unrelenting as they shoved against her sternum and ribs. She gasped from more than just the strain in her arms, the burning prickle in her fingers. She didn't want to beg. She wanted to shoot him in the fucking head. She wanted to gouge out those pale, green eyes that reminded her of the thorns she could feel gouging into the back of her tongue.

But she did. She did everything she hated, because if she did, over a hundred thousand people would die. She would lose all the memories, the good and the bad, of her home for the past five years. Of the pizza joint down on fifth; of the coffee machine that never worked in the S.T.A.R.S office; of the neon lights of the shops making funny patterns across her windows when it rained. The bomb would take the river from her, the sound of her feet across the familiar cobblestone in front of the police station, and the echo of Alpha teams laugh during the late night hours. It would take everything from her. Umbrella would strip it all away -

 _Hadn't_ _they already_? She was supposed to be leaving in three days. Everything had already been shot, beaten, ripped... _But I could have gotten it all back_. Could she? Maybe it was an excuse... an excuse to drive herself to her own unmarked grave, to make up for what she couldn't stop. _You could have_. Nicholai's boot stole an agonized gasp from her, a helpless cry, another rose threatening to erupt from her lungs. _If you could pull the trigger_...

Why hadn't she taken her gun out? She could have shot him, stopped him, instead of dangling helplessly -

The rose twisted it's way out of her, dissolving within seconds in a leftover puddle at the bottom of the drop. She stared down at the ivory foam that remained of it, wondering where the salt at the edge of her tongue had come from...

×××

"Now drop the gun!" She almost did. Why shouldn't she?

 _It's not like you're going to use_ _it_. Brad. Mikhail. Tyrell. Now Nicholai. He had known. Right from the beginning, the goddamn second he'd seen her he had known. She wished it was easy enough to hate him for it. That she would be petty enough on that alone, if she couldn't for everything else he'd done to her.

They stared at each other, blue on green, the sky meeting the pale sheen of the sea. Neither flinched, neither wavered. Though Jill's unrelenting stare was more frozen shock, uncertainty, and yet she hid it behind anger. She had enough pride left to unleash that emotion, one of the few she'd refused to bury in nightmare and pills. It was the only thing that kept her standing, kept her glare locked. Nicholai wouldn't budge either, his lips twitching in something reminiscent of a smirk, but the lines in his cheeks told of the snarl threatening to take hold.

How did it always know?!

Jill dove back, rubble pattering against the wall, on and around her. Her heart throbbed. Her vision blurred. Something awful, trembling and high, rose into her mouth. She lashed around, racing to her feet, bleary gaze searching the rubble -

His stupid, arrogant voice should not have been half as reassuring as it was.

×××

 _Why couldn't it have been you_? Carlos had stayed. Nemesis's attention had temporarily stalled, head turning to look at him rather than her. It had chosen to deal with the closest problem, the threat that had assisted her escape not once, but several times. She would have been dead without him three times over, and the creature had taken notice. Jill lowered her head, blinking back a fresh wave of tears as the outermost decontaminated halted her progress.

Either the system was malfunctioning or the leftover residue from the vat called for a literal wave of disinfectant. She was dripping by the time it let her out, spluttering on the spray that had gotten in her nose, rubbing at her face with the back of her arm.

 _At least I know how the dishes feel when you put them in the washer_ _now_. Not that she'd ever wondered what that was like... She was beginning to believe near death experiences filled one with a sense of lingering whimsy. Or maybe it was the concussion she probably had. She wasn't sure. She also wasn't sure she'd ever find out. She slammed her hand down on the pad in the terminal, leaning back against the wall in the elevator. She had to keep moving. Had to think of the mission, and not the man she'd left behind. Jill lurched out of the lift, taking the stairs two at a time, even as the rose - almost forgotten in her surge - pressed against her sternum. 

He wasn't there.

The launchpad - _oh goddamnit_! Of course Umbrella had a helicopter landing on top of their lab! A quick escape in case things went south. Not that it looked like anyone had made use of them... Jill bit her lip, head lashing around as she searched for -

Her lungs couldn't hold much air. Not with rose vines threatening to rend her from the inside out. What little she had was forced out of her. She jerked as she tumbled to the cement, fumbling for her gun. A second kick sent it skidding off the edge of the rooftop. Jill lashed around, Nicholai standing not a few feet from her. Her gaze darted to the end of the barrel, his words sharp and clipped.

"You're not going to stop me." She hated how small she felt. How angry and helpless and stupid. Why had she forgotten all of her training? He reached back, withdrawing the one thing that might redeem her foolishness. "Promised you this, didn't I?" He tossed it, the steel cylinder protecting the precious, violet liquid inside. Jill reached for it without thinking, without caring. What use did he have for it anymore?

And just like that - gone.

"No!" She screeched, voice cracking. Broken rubble, if even that, of a mansion lost far in the hills. A cry she thought she had long ago buried there, the only tombstone any S.T.A.R.S member had ever received. The vaccine oozed out, all over the blacktop. Useless. Lost. For once, she didn't have to hold back the rose.

"Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

 _How could_ _he_?

"Don't know. Don't care. My client ordered me to reduce Umbrella to rubble." Money. Greed. Jill's stomach roiled with it. She blinked back tears, hand trembling above the ruined vial. His eyes, pale and grey and green in the light, reflected nothing. It didn't matter to him. She didn't matter to him.

 _Why should_ _I_?

" _Ten minutes until missile launch_." It was over. Everything. Everyone. Jill felt hollow. She ached with it. All except for her lungs, which grew heavier by the second.

"Ah. The missile has launched. And that is my cue to leave." Jill stumbled to stand, trying to inhale. Every exhale choked her. She could taste blood. Tears brimmed in her eyes. Nicholai raised the gun, tracking her as she leaned precariously close to the edge. "Good-bye, Miss Valentine. A shame you did not - "

Jill fell back to her knees, hacking and whining. Tears scorched her vision, streaking down her face. Her nails gouged into the darkness beneath her, limbs locking and burning as she tried to keep herself upright. She waited for the bullet to end her. She wished it would. The petals were red now, flowing past her slick lips. Jill raised her head, expecting to meet her end. Instead, Nicholai's head was tilted, something like amusement curling the corner of his mouth. He thought she was still infected maybe, or that the virus had reawakened. Either way, he'd receive extra for what he reported. She trembled in the throes of agony, finally releasing the bloom she couldn't hold back.

Her hands shook, taking hold of the ivory flower, unafraid of the thorns that sliced into her fingers. She cradled it close, foolishly trying to hide it, but... no. It was too delicate, fragile despite its many edges.

"What is that?" She heard him move closer, boot stomping on one of the ruined petals. Jill forced her legs to work, her thighs screaming in protest as she made them coil. She pushed herself back, away from him. She raised her head, watching his eyes widen as her blood dripped from the rose. His brow furrowed, lips parting. His face twitched, confusion and an eerie realization sweeping over him.

And then he laughed. The sharp edge of his grin piercing his cheeks, and crinkling the corners of his terrible, dark eyes. Jill swallowed a sob. She trembled against the wind, soft and sweet, threatening to drag her into the abyss. The emptiness before could not compare. The chasm that opened within her chest could not even be compounded by the itch of righteousness fury. It was only... nothing. Hollow. There was no ache akin to pain, no agony that could give her an outlet. Lost. Alone. A rose eaten by ice.

" _And if you do, do not show it to the one who planted it there. They will know the second they see_ _it_..." Jill shook like a leaf tasting its last and only autumn. Her gaze fell, taking in the rose she held so dearly. Her tears pattered against it's still rouge smudged face, cleaning away the last of her blood. She raised her other hand, gently stroking the petals with a gentleness she had never given anyone else. This thing she had made... it was beautiful. Her love was pure and white like snow. And it was hers. She raised her chin, settling her shimmering, sky blues on the still amused Nicholai. His laughter had died to chuckles, face etched with an almost boyish glee.

 _That's a good look for him_. Jill took a step back. _Umbrella can have Raccoon City_. It was neck deep in corruption anyway, a filth she couldn't save it from. _He can have his money_. His face was changing, falling, and he raised the gun again. _Everyone can rest easy_. Jill took another step back, her heel off the edge. Carlos and S.T.A.R.S and her. Without bodies or dust or stones. _And maybe, when all is said and_ _done_... when the ashes were cleared and another city made its home here... _There will be white roses in winter_. Jill smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. She actually managed a giggle. _They can have it_ _all_. Her head tilted back, watching as Nicholai's pale gaze widened.

"But you can't have this..." Jill took her last step.

 _Bang_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. Your eyes do not deceive you, there is another chapter ahead.
> 
> >:3


	3. Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanahaki Disease was often viewed as a myth by the world. Yet there are people who suffer from it, rarely seen throughout the years. There is no cure, except the removal of the flower from the host's lungs. Oddly enough, the procedure always results in memory loss.
> 
> Others report living with it for decades, taking various pain medications, and resorting to coughing up every bloom rather than sacrifice those feelings, deemed more precious than their very lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the smut.

Raccoon City didn't burn. Not anymore. There was no rubble left. The bomb fell with all the majesty of a magician's cape, the dust forming the curtain call to a blinding roar of applause. Jill swore she could feel the heat sinking into every inch of her. The world rocked around her, the wave cresting in her vision. Her bones shook with it.

Her father raised her up onto his shoulders, laughing and smiling at the lights hanging from the Eiffel Tower. Her mother sang something in the kitchen while she lay sprawled in the afternoon sun, the cherry blossom tree making pink patterns at her toes. The sea shimmered beyond her eyes, the salt sticking to her lashes, with bluebells blooming on the ridge. Dizzying as dancing, she plummeted, feet over head, in a cloud that bridged earth and heaven. It looked otherworldly, the whipped wrath of a god from her mother's home, the spirits clattering and howling in the stagnant, acrid breeze.

Jill closed her eyes.

×××

Rain pattered against her window, rhythmic as a poem. Except there was an echo to it. Metal. It smelled of sulfur and steel, the oil of a gun barrel. Her temples throbbed. She could feel her pulse between her toes, in her fingertips. Her cheek burned, with the familiar sting of a cut. She was covered in them. Every bruise seemed to beat in time with her heart, waves of soreness permeating every limb and bone. Her head rolled back.

 _I'm alive_.

She wanted to be surprised, maybe even angry, but she had a nasty tendency to survive tragedy. Jill opened her eyes, the murky darkness of a rainy night greeting her outside the curved pane of a helicopter window. She could tell by the seats, by the blades jutting off the top, and the gun stationed beside the opposite door. Her vision was still too distorted, by what she couldn't remember, but the basic shapes were sharp enough to recognize. She had survived. Her brow furrowed. Something bit into her wrists, dangling behind her. Cuffs...

 _Why_?

"Awake at last, Miss Valentine." Jill turned her head slowly, too weighted by fatigue and lingering pain to try any faster.

"Nicholai." She hadn't seen him before, despite the fact he sat opposite her. His pale, evergreen gaze looked almost as white as the light they reflected, half carved crescents in the blackness. His hair shone too, leading down to the dusting at his jaw. The darkness dripped like ink into the tendons of his back, the dips of his kevlar, banding from the inside of his left leg. It threatened to devour more than its share, taking all his right side, and eating away at the left. Something shone in his grasp, beating against her eyes. Jill closed them, halfway tempted to slip back into unconsciousness if at all possible.

"Now, now, Miss Valentine." She heard him rise, the crinkle of his clothes, the clack of his boots against the steel. "Where are your manners?" His voice changed direction, confusing her already frozen senses. Her sky blue orbs cracked open, his features coming closer into focus, now that he was kneeling before her. He tilted his head, raising - a knife. Her heart lurched into her throat, even as her lungs burned. They were stuffed, every artery and vein ready to burst apart. She wondered if the vines would eat her alive...

"I've a question, Miss Valentine." He twirled the silvery edge expertly, flicking it between his fingers. "And if you give me an answer I like, I'll be sure to kill you quickly." The blade pressed to her neck in an instant, her head lashing back against the rest behind her. Her eyes burned, vision glittering with shards of broken, vibrant glass. Her father had told her the cathedral was well over eight centuries old... "Miss Valentine." Nicholai's voice ripped through her, giving her enough of her mind back to swallow a whimper. The knife pushed dangerously close, held back only by his thumb against her skin. He wouldn't let her just end it. Not like... not like on the rooftop.

"Pay attention now." His other hand twisted into her hair, dragging her head down. Jill tried to wrestle herself free, but his grip was painful and unforgiving. Nicholai released her, digging around in his fatigues. Her head lolled, scalp itching, throbbing... "What is _this_?" 

She almost couldn't see it. Couldn't make sense of the small thing he held up for her. But it was blue. Blue and small and fragile. It belonged far away, in a spring meadow, or waving in a bluff above the sea. On a simple tabletop, or the crown of some fairy, dappled in sunlight. It was beautiful and it was -

"What have you _infected_ me with?" Nicholai snarled, pressing the cold blade further into her flesh. 

Jill opened her mouth, yet no words would come. She could feel her heart pounding through her, her pain suddenly so secondary, so far away. Her throat closed. She couldn't breathe. Jill heaved, hacked, coughing and spluttering petal after petal. An entire rose came out, collapsing against the metal at her feet. Another followed suit, rolling on her thighs. Nicholai cursed through a snarl, tearing himself away from her, but she could hear the hitch in his breathing. Jill sobbed so hard her voice cracked, the white roses streaming from her. She couldn't see Nicholai, but she could hear the metal of the helicopter groaning.

 _Bang, bang, bang, **bang**_. Was it hail?

She swore she could see blue out of the corner of her vision, just when it seemed like the storm was more inside than outside. It streamed and joined the roses, tiny, weeping bells nearly lost in the foliage.

Jill gasped, straining as his hands appeared. The knife was gone, placed back in its sheathe on his belt. He grabbed at her, un-buckling her seatbelt in a quick series of jerks, tugging her roughly out of her seat and onto his shoulder. The door opened, blasting her with icy, wet air that tickled her face and neck. Jill hissed, jaw snapping down on one last vine as he dropped out of the helicopter. The lights were still on, but even they faded in the eerie blackness. He started walking, circling around the front to head... somewhere. Jill grappled onto his back, still trying to breathe, to make sense of her surroundings.

Something Russian and angry exploded past his lips. They crashed into the ground. Jill's back hit the grass. Her teeth chattered, every drop of rain turning into a needle that lanced down to her marrow. Nicholai clawed for her again, even though she didn't bother trying to move. She couldn't see him against the backlight of the helicopter, its bright white eyes striping across her body. It blurred her already shaky gaze.

"Nicholai..." He stared down at her. She knew he was, she could feel his eyes. Jill twisted her head, back arching over her bound arms, half turned against the earth. He shifted above her, the grey that she assumed was his shirt pulling. She still couldn't see his arms, couldn't make sense of where his hands were. Something grazed her collar, rough and hot, settling just above the bone. Her lashes fluttered. A fresh, cold wave surged down her torso. She gasped, raw throat throbbing as the rain fell onto the exposed tops of her breasts, gliding down into her bra, and following the flat planes of her stomach.

A thin, icy line pricked her skin, her body shuddering beneath it. Her legs kicked in the gravel, breaths coming sharper. She could see the edge, the silver catching the headlights of the chopper. Nicholai dragged the knife across her chest, maneuvering the flat side underneath a strap. He flicked it, deft and quick. She barely felt the drag, the quick snap as the flimsy fabric yielded. His head twisted to the side, the white beam catching his hair and temple. She still couldn't make out his eyes, but his hair was as silver as the blade under the beating rain. The knife grazed her sternum, stealing another gasp from her tired lungs, but never a single drop of blood. Jill's head fell back, fingers twisting and grappling at the cuffs beneath her. They'd grown clammy against her skin, hot and cold all at once.

And yet she knew she wouldn't run away if she was free.

Nicholai teased the decorative bow between her breasts, never breaking it, and even in the darkness she swore she could feel his amusement at her squirming. She forced herself to still, tried to, but every drag of freezing, burning metal made her tremble all over again. His patience finally reached an end, the knife sliding through the cotton, freeing her chest. Jill squeezed her eyes shut, back arching against a fresh, cold spray of rain. She could have swore she heard Nicholai curse, or maybe it was something else. His voice had been quick and grating, stolen by the wind that howled.

She felt him move above her, bracing herself for anything, but whining all the same when his hands clasped her breasts. When had he taken off his gloves? Hot and rough, his long fingers sinking into the softness of her. They started to press, slow and sure, testing how malleable they were, the heft of them. She could feel his callouses, course and harsh, catching on the tender skin. Jill shook from her toes to her crown, yet she couldn't blame it on the storm anymore. She sunk her teeth into her tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her voice for as long as she could. She keened behind her tightly sealed lips less than a moment later, his thumb having grazed the swollen peak. He didn't pause, the bulk of his body sinking over her as a new heat - soft and wet dragged across her breast.

Jill did moan then. And again, again, again - _again_. Nicholai's tongue swerved across her skin, teasing the outskirts of her nipple before giving it a long, full lap from base to tip. His lips, thin and rough, clasped it tenderly. Jill had never heard herself like this before. Was it the flower that had been born in her lungs? Was that what made every breath airy and desperate, new and pure with sensation? Nicholai drew them from her easily, the work of his mouth as he feasted on her breast, sucking her nipple till it was tender and throbbing.

"Nicholai!" Jill gasped his name, the sound of his response akin to thunder. She felt it vibrate against her skin, over her, all around her. She finally opened her eyes. She almost closed them again. The light from the copter had yet to go out, yet the shadows seemed to have grown thicker, longer. She could just make out the faint outline of him, switching to her other breast, tongue lashing across the silken peak. Jill's whimper hovered on her tongue, tangling as the roots did within her lungs. Her core throbbed, she could feel it clench every time his tongue swerved across her areola. When his cheeks hollowed, she sighed and moaned all at once, twisting underneath him with the sheer intensity of liquid heat that surged between her thighs. She wanted to blame so much on the rain, but the tacky pull at the apex of her legs couldn't he denied.

"Nicholai..." Perhaps it was the way she said it. Maybe it was the fading light of the helicopter. He raised his head, just slightly, the only sign she had of his acknowledgement. Her lips trembled. The rain clung to her lashes. Her pale skin felt flushed and cold and hot all at once. The white shine made speckles in her vision, and she tried to blink them away. Nicholai lunged upwards. His mouth crashed into hers. He pushed her down into the grass, the wolf that had pounced and taken hold of its prey. Jill moaned, loud and high into his throat. She swore she could taste the flower that had answered hers. As if they were reaching for each other from their lungs. The light grew further, the bed of grass grew thicker, and the thunder had become soft. Yet it remained, beating in her ears, on her tongue, within and against her chest.

They were almost lost in total darkness, but there was just enough of that glow left for when he pulled away again. His hunger had become savage, fingers tearing at her boots, her socks, ripping at the buckles to her pouches. Her pants were met with a similar fate, shredded in much the same way she suspected her tanks had been. She twisted beneath him, coiling against the inevitable chill, but it never came. He grappled with her body, pulling her into his still kevlar trapped chest, fingers slick, nails biting against her wrists. A fresh shudder wracked her shoulders, sensitive skin rubbing against the harsh layers of his clothes. She recognized, distantly, the angular body of the key gouging into her arm, searching for its companion. The lock clicked, her left wrist free, but he didn't even bother with the other.

Jill reached as soon as she was able, expert fingers finding the small clasps of his outer armor. He assisted her by shrugging it off, her knuckles already twisting in his grey shirt. She pulled it free of his fatigues, his hands grabbing behind him to take hold of his collar.

Jill liked to believe she wasn't shallow. That she wasn't superficial enough for a man's body to make her want to spread her legs. Besides, she'd always been too busy with her own life, her own goals. She had... looked, yeah, she wasn't entirely blind, and she had become a locksmith and explosives expert while surrounded by the top brass of the military. Maybe it was just their personalities that turned her off, but there had been men she thought were handsome.

But it had always made her curious, always amazed her how in fiction and song, there were no odes written by women to men. At least, none that she could find. They were so often done by other men, talking about heroic deeds and valor. Where were the rest? Where were the women waxing poetic about a man's body? About their silvery hair, their scarred skin, and pale green eyes that were the same shade as rose thorns? She couldn't see him anymore, but her hands had been returned to her. She made use of them, fingers sliding along the grooves of his abs. She almost thought the wind had come back, had roared over them with the same intensity as her blood in her ears. Nicholai was growling. 

Her hands splayed across his chest, feeling each muscle and tendon, how they shifted and strained at her passing. He pushed her back, palms pressing and cradling her against the grass, which felt thicker and heavier. Jill released another moan, her open mouth traveling across his throat and collar, tasting scars etched with salt. He groaned above her, hands fumbling at his waist, growling at his own pants. There was a deep groove that she followed with her tongue, circling an undeniable pucker, a crater on the right side of his chest. She felt more than heard his breath stall. A bullet. The hard tissue told of its age, probably white like his hair. Jill traced it anyway, lapping at the crevice that had been carved into him.

His hand clawed into her hair, tangling the short strands in his callouses. Jill inhaled, sharp and fast, her cry stolen by his mouth. His nose dragged across her cheek, stubble burning against her face. His tongue sunk past her lips with ease, tangling with her own. He tasted like citrus, prickling across her gums, tingling on her teeth. His breath, hot and burning bloomed into her lungs, across her face. She whined, arching against the grass, pushing into him. She tried to raise her hands, to grip his shoulders. Something caught her right one, still clasped in steel. The cuffs released a _click_ , the other end attached to his opposite wrist.

He wasn't letting her escape. How could he believe she still wanted to? Her bound hand was forced to cling to his forearm, her free hand at least allowed to slide over his nape and back. He held himself above her, moving forward to drag his arousal across her core. Jill shuddered, trembled. Her legs rose, hitching around his waist. He came closer, the tip of his cock pushing along her inner thigh. Her lungs couldn't hold any more air, moans stunted by her constant gasping. Nicholai caught her hood, a groan rolling over her from his chest. He leaned, pressing, and filling and -

Jill's cunt rippled, her cries coming sharp and fast. Nicholai surged forward, his breaths stroking across her neck. His thighs pushed at the bottoms of hers, drawing her up, tightening her body. She could feel his knees working, his arms straining above her. She arched higher, facilitating his motions, letting him reach the end of her that much faster.

Something caught on her nipple, tangling around the peak. Whatever it was coiled across her skin, dipping to her sternum as his chest crushed into hers, the hard muscles dragging across her breasts. Her head rolled back, moans falling from her lips like petals. His tags. The cold, now hot steel of them. She wondered if his name would be imprinted in her skin, the etchings of his ID number, the swerving syllables of his mother tongue, maybe even whatever nickname they had given him. She hoped it had 'silver' in it.

His left hand grabbed her right, locking their fingers together by her head, pressing them down into the foliage beneath them. There was no rain now. No storm, no bomb, no virus, or Raccoon City. Only Nicholai and the dark. His musk and the strange sweetness on his lips, the tang of his true taste like citrus, and the salt of his sweat. His hair prickled against her palm, between her fingers, as her hand glided from his nape onto his scalp.

Her thighs shook, toes curling as the warm, honey heat trickling through her veins grew hotter and thicker. As if the vines were crawling within her, the thorns catching on her muscles, pulling them taught. And yet they did not burn, they did not stick and tear. They held her, filled her more and more as Nicholai moved within her. She couldn't see him, but she could feel his breaths on her cheek, heard his grunts entangling with her high cries.

His cock was so much, bordering too much, almost pulling her apart at the seams. Her walls fought and welcomed him all at once, pushing against him when he sunk so deep, yet clinging the instant he drew away. He made them tender, weeping, scraping her raw while leaving her dripping. Jill tasted salt before she knew it, but it wasn't from his skin. It wasn't even from her own. It came from her eyes, clinging to her cheeks, streaming through her hair. Her lips, swollen and throbbing, just like the ones between her thighs, opened on a choked sob. Nicholai shuddered above her, his pace becoming faster, harder. Jill saw stars. They were silver and azure, waving above her head, speckling the backs of her eyes.

He stroked that tender place within her without trying, striking it till she wept and trembled beneath him, a rose trapped in the maw of a Russian winter... Jill could hear how wet she was, could feel it in the slick lather that almost stole the friction, but now only heightened it. Nicholai grew louder, his arms flexing and pushing around her, caging her against him. She could feel her end in her toes, in the shake of her fingers, in her heaving lungs, her ears, her bones and blood. She could feel that tension in him too, coiled tight and fraying.

"Nicholai, Nicholai, Nicho- _lai_." Three syllables bordering benediction, imprinted on every precious bloom that had left her chest, the thorns etching them inside her lungs, heart, throat, in the secret places behind her ribs. He answered her with shuddering breaths and thrusts that made her teeth rattle, grunts stolen from his stone twisted lips. But something else hovered just beneath, a truth she knew wasn't hers anymore. It never would be again. It came just as she faced the precipice, tangled around him with her hips cradling him, legs and arms coiled around his waist and shoulders. She let it go with her hand in his hair, trapped beneath his own, with his other one dragging her higher to sink impossibly deeper -

" _I love you_." He fell with her. He choked and snapped his teeth on half formed words like a man drowning. His voice sounded deeper, rising out of his chest, the syllables harsh and grating from his mother tongue. Jill wondered what they meant. Three languages and she could not know what terrible, mauled secrets he spoke into her skin. Her release made her ache, made her tremble. She couldn't help but continue to cry, to give broken moans as his hips snapped in the throes of his own. His essence flowed into her, dripping out to nurture what had taken root around them. It felt so warm, it made her cunt quiver and convulse around him, drawing a deep, sharp groan from him.

Jill's chest heaved beneath his, doing the same, trading breaths as they shook around each other. She couldn't tell if the storm was still raging. She didn't care. She didn't care about much of anything, really. Her free hand slowly fell down his nape, unable to hold on, fingers feather light as they followed the swerve of his muscles to his thick bicep. She couldn't keep her eyes open. Everything, her energy, adrenaline, and strength sinking out of her. She felt Nicholai's brow against her own, lips brushing her cheek. Her tongue rose, slow and heavy to greet his, a soft mewl slipping free as his own sunk into her mouth.

There was only the darkness growing thicker, the citrus and blood clinging to her teeth, the scent of Nicholai and sex... and the sweet smell of fresh roses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this has been a wild ride! Warning for yet another word splurge on Nicholai.
> 
> Oh boy, time to examine this virtually emotionless, raging trashfire of a Russian mercenary...
> 
> Bluebells in easten culture usually just mean: gratitude. While in western cultures, they symbolize several things: gratitude, humility, constancy, and _everlasting love_. There's a trend here... Yes, not going to lie, I've sort of banked most of this on them being soulmates and sort of doomed to be together. That sounded more ominous than I meant it to...
> 
> Anyway... Gratitude has, I believe, a lot of weight in this relationship, and also none at all. Jill is grateful in a weird, backhanded, not-really way. Because Nicholai forces her to realize and confront things. He's a juxtapose to Carlos, who unconsciously assists with Jill's trauma, offering her a way to come to peace with it. Nicholai, however, is the exact opposite. His approach was equally unconcious, but was more of a shove. Say what you will of Nicholai, but he does see things about Jill that she herself is convinced aren't a problem... until they are. He sees and knows very well her struggles. Her "bleeding heart" is evident all over the place, paired with her nearly suicidal drive to save the city. There are moments where Jill dives straight into danger, as if she craves death, yet she crawls out with a vengeance, still clinging to life (this is also one of the major reasons he finds her attractive. Fight me.)...
> 
> Humility. There is not a single gram - a single _atom_ \- in a bone or drop of blood within Nicholai Ginovaef (I guess we're going with that version of his name) that is humble. I doubt he knows the meaning of the word. Yet it is what drives him to Jill. While looking down at her, baiting her... his next encounter with her almost sounds like a temptation, if in a very Nicholai-like manner: "You print money. I like money." It isn't until he sees the white rose that his priorities do a 180. The double edged sword comes in the form of the white flower, Jill's shame that he laughs at. But because we don't see his POV, you can't tell if he's losing it over the irony, with relief, or if he's just sadistically reveling in her humiliation.
> 
> At this point, he steals Jill. He effectively rescues her and damns the city. He was going to do that latter anyway, but the former is, at the moment, his private admittance. He cannot _breathe_ without her. And yet he buries that emotion, the thing she has made bloom inside of him, beneath the belief of self preservation. He cannot love Jill Valentine based upon a night, trapped within a city of death. He's had one night stands that were more romantic than what they went through! And he didn't even know those women's names! For him, this is the closest he comes to humiliation, and yet it is washed away in the tide of unrelenting pride at having brought her equally as low. He has this power over her, and he does not intend to relinquish it to anyone.
> 
> Constancy. Nicholai is nothing if not constant. Whether it be in his abandonment of Jill to a fate arguably worse than death, or his own unflinching, screwed up moral compass. Just kidding, he doesn't even own one. I can't help but feel this quality is transmitted to his life as well though, and will continue to endure as he develops his relationship with Jill. Jill is devoted, but Nicholai is steadfast. There is something romantic in that attribute of Jill's, while Nicholai's is more like a rock. Unrelenting and unflinching. Jill would never waver, but she would question herself and what this relationship means about herself. To Nicholai, Jill is just another thing that will be meshed into himself. Her morality means nothing to him. Nicholai is all about self preservation... which now includes Jill. That's how he reasons out this whole situation to himself, because feelings are other people's problems. Nicholai must and will make the hard calls when it comes to her life, dragging her kicking and screaming from whatever death defying stunt she might launch herself into... an utter contradiction to how their relationship first started.
> 
> Everlasting love. Oh boy. Nicholai and the L-word have a funny relationship. This meaning is mirrored in Jill's flower, drawing a full circle to their differences and similarities (few and far between as those are). Not only that, the flowers remind them of each other. I wanted to go more in depth with Nicholai's POV but he is the type of character I feel benefits from some mystery.
> 
> Also, I didn't want this to get long, but it did. Congratulations if you stuck it out with my yammering gibberish. Get yourself something sweet as a reward!


	4. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanahaki Disease either kills or is endured. There is no in between.

Jill couldn't remember such warmth. Not even when she had a terror, seeking the side of her mother in the dead of night. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt safe either, cocooned from the world, now so awful and bleak. When was the last time she'd slept with the lights off? In her bed, wrapped up in darkness and the fresh heat of cotton from the dryer? She didn't think she would ever awake, refreshed and smiling at the sound of birdsong ever again. Were they cardinals or blue jays? Maybe it was a robin. She could hear a pigeon cooing too. When she opened her eyes, would she find the sun, streaking across her windows? They would sparkle, glitter, despite the grime that clung to their edges. Late night rain and morning dew dripping, drawing uncharted rivers down their warm faces. She bet she could still snag a ride on the train, catch a quick brunch on her way downtown. They had a cute pair of boots in the window, last she checked...

Complacency bred stupidity. She couldn't afford to be caught off guard. 

Something grazed her cheek. The unmistakable, gentle whisper of leaves sounded... all around her.

The sun warmed her skin in spots, along her thigh, up her arm, against her neck. It easily distracted from the ache that resided in every inch of her, echoed from her toes to her crown by the beat of her heart. Yet not all of it was entirely unpleasant... the soreness at the apex of her thighs, for example. A heavy weight pressed against along her back, saturated with that same, quiet heat, if only slightly hotter. A bicep leading into a forearm bracketed her waist, long fingers woven with hers. The knuckles felt thick between her own, hard and callous covered, yet rubbing gently against her softer skin as they breathed. Their conjoined palms clasped the jutting bone of her hip, where metal grazed the smooth skin, weaving the foreign limb to her own. Her free hand rested against a surface rising and falling rhythmically by her face. She could feel her own breath, stirring the fine hair on her wrist. She was laying, trapped against a man's chest. Her lips grazed his skin every time he inhaled.

He smelled of musk that reminded her of nutmeg, sprinkled with cinnamon she ordered from the side-street cafe, known only as _Delilah's_. She once asked who she was to the shop owner, an old man with thick, gnarled bones, and yet they had a fragility to them that made her think of a bird. He shook his head with a fond smile every time, winking at her beneath a brow of shockingly jet black hair. And every time, when she turned away with a smile, she heard him heave a heavy, deep sigh.

More than that, he was sweat and gunpowder, steel and salt. Jill's heart fluttered, breath hitching against his skin. She nuzzled forward despite herself, tasting the moisture her exhales had left on him. She tasted him too. Like his scent, metallic and spicy, and yet something coiled in her stomach, curling to the tips of her fingers. She knew it as _craving_.

Everything else came slowly. The position of his opposite, free arm, thrown over her body, pressed against her back. He was still wearing his pants from what she could tell, fatigues that she had wound her legs into. Boots at her ankles - how tall was he? She could feel the laces catching on her toes.

Jill opened her eyes. His skin was pale, and yet still a little darker than hers. She could see the scars she had felt the night before, her brow just starting to crease at the sight. There were lighter ones, white and barely noticeable. They stretched across his ribs as he breathed, another above his navel, and she saw two more along the inside of his elbow over her waist. Others were like black lightning, dipping beneath the surface, cracking across his clavicle, below his left nipple, and following the divide between his abs. She traced them all, sometimes using her nail to watch his skin divot, stroking as soft as the roses that had grown from her lungs. Her index dragged to the familiar pucker from last night, rediscovering the jagged twists and drops within it. It must have been treated in haste, upon the field. Considering the location, just below his right pectoral, she was hardly surprised. 

None of them could distract from the impressive expanse of his muscles, only seeming to enhance the strong wave of his pectorals, which curved into the deep lines bisecting his abs. Her gaze diverted, trying to memorize the pull of each tendon as he breathed, her fingers swerving across each in turn. She lowered her head, taking in the rise of his pelvis above his fatigues, the darkened lines that dipped to his cock. Jill swallowed. He was... big in more ways than one. Thick as well. She wouldn't be surprised if he nudged her cervix last night, which would explain the lingering, though not entirely unpleasant soreness.

She noticed other things as well... the hairless nature of his chest for one thing, the way hair only began to appear below his navel, the curls starting out a darker shade of grey at their roots. Yet around his manhood, grown out and thick, it matched the silver of his head. Jill's palm pressed flat to his stomach, absorbing the way his muscles contracted and flared beneath her touch. She pushed downwards, fingers gliding into the coarse fur, pausing to curiously stroke the residual dusting of white within it. It reminded her of snow... It took her far longer than it should have to realize what it was too. Her face burned, the dried flakes now trapped beneath her nails of their... god, she didn't even know what to call it.

 _A lapse in judgement_? She almost rolled her eyes at her own piss poor excuse. There was just... something about being there, wrapped up in the arms of a man she couldn't dream of doing anything more than detesting any other day of the week. It was so quiet too, so much different than the screams and otherworldly groans of a dying city. Dreamlike and eerie, as if time had slowed, and yet she could tell it was close to noon by the sunlight streaming through the strange canopy above. 

_Too late to turn back now_. But even she knew she didn't want to. Jill continued in her journey, fingertips brushing him before she took the plunge. He felt as heavy as he looked. The skin of his cock was hotter than his torso, prickling against her palm. It twitched in her grasp, his chest hitching against her cheek. She paused, simply absorbing the heft of him, the difference in the roughness of the skin on his torso, as adverse to the scorching velvet she held in comparison. She could feel his pulse, her thumb stroking a vein that broke the surface, close to the base. His cock throbbed in retaliation, the head starting to flush. Jill pulled away, slowly, fingers dipping into one of the narrow crevices of the striations that had led her there. Her palm pulled over the bone of his pelvis, tracing another slash, white and risen.

"When you are finished -"Jill halted whatever sound arose from her lungs, though the choked version of it was still high pitched and embarrassing. "With your... _examination_ , Miss Valentine." She slowly, every so very, very slowly, raised her burning face to see the knife of Nicholai's grin. His pale, evergreen orbs sparked with a look of _knowing_ , and his brows shot up and down in the same second perversely. He had been awake the whole time. Jill almost blacked out with shame. "Perhaps you might answer my question?"

Jill opened her mouth. Nothing came out. His smirk never wavered, one silvery eyebrow rising in amusement. She jerked back, her legs pulling to escape from his. Her mind blanked when his arm only pressed harder into her back, her own slamming into the front of her body. The cuffs! Nicholai's growl, more the furious wind of a winter night, a force of nature than the sound of a man, rattled through her.

 _You can face a goddamn super zombie named "Nemesis", but you can't look one snarky Russian in the eye_? Jill couldn't contain her gasp, yanked back into his chest by the limb still pressed to her spine, his other one roping over her once more. He tightened them, forcing her to remember her own nakedness, to press against every inch she had touched and even longed to taste. _Yeah, but you didn't feel him up while you thought he was sleeping, did_ _you_? She hadn't even bothered to check...

"Come now, Miss Valentine, we will have none of that." His voice coiled into her ear, grating out of his throat. "Though I will confess, a flush only adds to your appeal, Miss Valentine." Jill's face reached a new level. She swore she felt lightheaded with it, temples throbbing with the fresh wave of blood that surged to her cheeks. "You didn't answer me." She shook her head, the nails of her unbound hand digging into his chest by her face, which she buried into his sternum.

"What?" Her voice sounded strained even to her, muffled against his muscles.

"What was that infection?" His nose pushed against her ear, his breaths hot and moist against her neck. Jill shivered, vibrant spots appearing behind her closed eyes. "And where did _those_ come from?" Jill blinked. She felt her lashes flick across his chest. She finally turned her head, the furrow of her brow telling her confusion. Nicholai raised a silver one in disbelief. Less than a second later though, a wide grin cut across his face.

"I'd no idea I was so enticing to you, Miss Valentine. Did you not even notice?" He rolled them over, her back hitting the... that wasn't grass. Nicholai rubbed his nose into her right cheek, nudging her to turn her head. "Look." Jill did. Her breath caught, eyes widening -

Blue. Blue and white in a dizzying haze. Some of them were a deep indigo, bordering on black, while others mirrored the sky, and others still could almost be purple. And yet, on the inside all of them were the same, a kaleidoscope of familiar ivory. Jill reached out, but she... she could quite get to one. Nicholai's hand appeared, parting the maze of petals. She almost pulled him back, worried for what awaited beneath those beautiful faces -

 _Snap_.

His hand came back, uninjured, unmarked by any kind of thorn. The stem had none. Only prickly white hairs that tickled her fingers when he handed it to her. She cradled it, the same way she had the pure white one of the night before. His hand came up, allowing her to, his fingers resting along the smooth curve of her breast. She raised her other one, tracing and feeling the petals. They were softer than silk on the inside, firm and yet equally as smooth on the outside. She could see them now, forming a narrow undergrowth all around them. The pale green of their vines and leaves woven together. A few of the roses even grew from the floor of tangled stems around them, tousled, with petals scattered between them. They formed a halo in the canopy above, leaning down, sprawled all around in a brilliant haze of sweet azure and ivory. How far did they go?

"Do you know what caused this?" She could feel the rose's blood dripping against her stomach. It felt thick, slowly trickling down her navel, down her ribs. She could smell it, saccharine and spicy, like the cinnamon honey her grandmother would make. The bloom itself held the aroma of a true rose, mixed with a familiar musk underneath... though to anyone else, it might be called nutmeg.

He could kill her when he found out. He could kill her for the truth alone. And yet neither option scared her... but for some reason, she just -

"No." The confession made her lungs feel lighter. Heavier. Nicholai's face fell. "I've... never seen this before." She couldn't look at him. The flower in her hands gave her an excuse, but out of the corner of her eye she could see the way his irises flashed. She doubted he would believe her, even if she told the truth they both knew she had.

"But I think we're alright..." Jill murmured, refusing to remember the words that had spilled from her lips. Nicholai hadn't mentioned them either. "I don't feel them anymore." Another lie. The vines had woven into her veins, the blooms replacing her heart, the thorns had carved his name into her ribs. He scoffed, his disbelief too thick to be withheld.

"I suppose I'll have to do my own detective work then..." Her hands held the rose tighter. She just managed to keep herself from crushing it.

"Are you going to kill me, Nicholai?" The corner of his nose twitched, as if he had smelled something putrid. His orbs, virtually grey, lowered to her face.

"Raccoon City has been leveled, Umbrella is no more..." He shrugged, though the nonchalance of his tone made her jaw clench. Either he didn't notice, or he didn't care. "You, however, survived the destruction of both. As far as I am concerned, the deadline is closed, Miss Valentine." She honestly doubted that. She could see it in his eyes, the way darkness curled at their edges, stark and eerie against the pale green. But she had lied as well, and he knew she had. Just this once, she would not follow the clues to the bitter end.

"Jill." He blinked, staring down at her as she spoke her name. "Jill, Nicholai." His head tilted, observing her beneath half kidded, hooded eyes. A small smirk slithered to the corner of his lips.

" _Jill_." Her breath hitched. She liked the way he said it. The way his accent made it sound like a tall 'E' stood behind the 'J', rather than a little 'i'. The way his lips formed that single syllable, opening and closing so easily; the way his teeth started it like kindling, and his tongue curled up to the roof of his mouth. His voice was rough and smooth with it all at once, releasing the two 'L' on the end in a smooth rumble from his chest. His eyes flashed, widening ever so slightly, before dipping back with ease.

"Jill." He rasped it this time, dry and grating, and yet the letters retained those same notes.

"Nicholai." She answered him with a sigh of his own, treating each syllable with the same delicacy she had every caress to the rose in her grasp. He raised his right hand, wrapping it around the stem, and slowly pulled it away from her. Jill watched him, half expecting him to toss it aside, but he drew it further up instead. He dragged it across her collar, following the bone to her shoulder, letting the flower trace along the curve to her pulse. Her breaths deepened, lashes fluttering as the silken petals caressed the underside of her jaw. He brought it further, gliding from her cheek to her lips, and then back again. Jill inhaled the sweetness, the ichor of its blood drying on her stomach, the scent sinking into her skin. Nicholai combed back her bangs with the vine. The thin hairs of the stem tickled her ear, the sepal at the base of the bloom catching in her locks. She could see the petals out of the corner of her eye, so blue and white, the ethereal softness pressed to her cheek.

"Nicholai..." He cupped her face, her hand forced to follow. She pressed her fingers between his knuckles, sliding along the back of his palm. His body lowered, his free hand pushing against the side of her breast, before sliding down to her hip. Jill gasped, her own clutching at his chest.

"Jill." They made love in a field of blue and white roses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it. I completed an entire fic. Yay! _Stops. Glares at nothing in particular. Whispers:_ Now what?
> 
> Anyway, on to the "behind-the-scenes": 
> 
> Nicholai 1000% had every intention of killing her when he woke up. But the second he opened his eyes he found Jill Valentine curled into his chest, with her long lashes, luscious lips parted, and face in the grasp of serene sleep. A smooth skinned, soft, sweet smelling Jill Valentine who has beautiful breasts, toned stomach, and a knockout pair of legs. He found Jill Valentine cloaked in the hues of sunrise, with deep orange and violet and pink dappling her creamy skin. All of this Jill Valentine, with a wall of roses he didn't think possible in full bloom behind her.
> 
> So yeah, Jill was not the only one doing her fair share of touching. >;3 Nicholai was just smart enough to get his done while she was really sleeping.
> 
> And finally, the rose itself!
> 
> For any curious, I based it off of the Osiria Rose. It's a weird, hybrid rose you can look up via Google that has some very interesting looking petals. They are dark red in the inside, and beautifully white on the outside. As with the rose mentioned in the story though, they are reversed, being the deep blue of Nicholai's bluebells on the outsides of their petals, and the pure white of Jill's roses on the insides. They're nice and safe, protected by the outer, thicker shield of blue.
> 
> This is the namesake of the story and sort of the culmination of all the nonsense. It possesses no thorns, except the razor sharp, serrated, and highly poisonous ones on the roots. Luckily, we didn't see those. Because bluebells, if ingested, are poisonous to animals and humans! :D Wonderful, right? I love flowers. I knew I had to make some part of the flower highly dangerous, even if we weren't directly exposed to that danger at any point. 
> 
> In the end, I really just wanted to address what happens when Hanahaki Disease is no longer unrequited, what happens when those two people come together and love one another to create something new and beautiful.


End file.
